poem24

Call up the red storm, the hells horn.
Feel the power in the winds.
Mount thy horse and call your men.

Like thunder from on high ride forth.
Awash in the crimson of anger.

Ride beside my valent comrades.
the face of them hidden form man.

And through it all I the darkest rider of them all.
Will boil in your souls.
A silent passanger driving you onward.

And whence the deads of valor are done.
And the truth lay before your eyes.
Weep not for in you hand was the method of thy truth.

And as you stand in the field of blood and bodies.
Look to the skies, and there you shall see my companions and myself.
And know then that we smile upon you.